


The Tune You Hum

by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone



Series: Aine Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Before the Dawn, F/M, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeliser/pseuds/fleurdeliser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"He's all yours, Inquisitor," Varric murmurs as he sits beside her with a bowl of stew from the fire. "If you can't save Curly's mood, no one can."</i>
</p><p>After the events at the Temple of Dumat, Cullen is on edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tune You Hum

**Author's Note:**

> Our thanks to [seimaisin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/) for giving this a read-through for us.

Lavellan is used to finding herself surrounded by dirty and exhausted soldiers by now. They set up camp as fast as possible and get whatever rest they can while she and her companions tend to their own wounds and weapons and more basic needs. Something she's not used to is her commander being in a biting, vicious mood. She's not used to him being with her at all. It only happened once before, that she remembers; everyone was tense, but nothing like this. Even Varric has given up trying to talk with him. 

"He's all yours, Inquisitor," he murmurs as he sits beside her with a bowl of stew from the fire. "If you can't save Curly's mood, no one can." 

Aine doesn't know if she even wants to attempt it. Cullen is usually the level-headed one, and her own temper hangs by a slender thread on a good day. Today she's tired, hungry, and her head is pounding from getting clobbered by a Horror. She sighs into her own stew. She knows he's like this because he's hurting and frustrated. She knows everything to do with Samson is hitting too close to home. Creators know she feels the same way about Corypheus and his gods-forsaken orb. Tevinter built its empire on the graves of her people. That an ancient Magister could grind what's left of them into dust in any number of ways...she's pretty sure she wants to get the orb back almost as much as she wants to stick a dagger in Corypheus's skull. So yes, she can understand Cullen's mood.

He's pacing at the edge of their camp, which is probably the best place for him at the moment. Except he hasn't come to get any food yet and she saw how little he ate for lunch. He won't eat in this mood, though. 

"Varric, if I could ask a favor?" Aine asks, voice acid-sweet. As expected, he laughs. He finds her attempts at courtly manners amusing.

"Yes, Herald?" 

"Set aside a bowl of stew for me? Two, actually. I'll be back."

"Good luck, your Inquisitorialness," he says knowingly, then adds quietly, "You'll need it." 

Aine stands and walks toward Cullen. She leans against a nearby cart and crosses her arms over her chest. She's not going to be the one to break first. She's not surprised when it doesn't take him long. He can be stubborn to a fault about some things, but not this time. He sighs heavily and rubs his neck, looking up at her from a few feet away. 

"Inquisitor," he says tiredly, then murmurs, "Aine." 

"You're being an arse," she tells him matter-of-factly. "And as I am an expert in being one, you ought to realize I know what I am talking about."

He takes a breath and moves to lean against the cart next to her. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes, and he laces their fingers together. "This morning, I thought by this time Samson would be behind me and I could move forward." 

"I know," she murmurs. 

"I cannot forget my anger so easily," Cullen says after a breath.

"I know that too," she replies and squeezes his hand again. 

"This is not how I planned for today to go," he says with another sigh. 

"How did you plan for it to go?" she asks, rubbing her thumb against his. 

"I thought I'd be - I'd hoped to have something to be happy about. Happy! How presumptuous of me." 

Aine raises her brows. "You have me." 

His face softens and he brings up his other hand to cup her cheek briefly. "So I do," he murmurs. 

"So are you going to stomp around like a bronto and snap at the scouts, or are you going to do something about it?" she challenges softly.

"It turns out stomping around isn't nearly as fun as it was when I was a child," Cullen says and squeezes her hand. Now that he's calmed down he sounds - not exhausted, exactly, but muted. A man like him doesn't deserve that. Not after all he's been through. She's pretty sure she can fix that, though. 

"C'mon. Varric promised to save some stew for you." 

He sighs again. "I'll apologize. My behavior was unacceptable."

She shakes her head. "It's Varric. He gets it." 

"If anyone in this camp does, I suppose it'd be him," Cullen says and pushes up and away from the cart. She prods him a couple times for good measure, though she mostly gets armor and some ruffled fur. "You're a menace," he tells her. 

"That's the point," she replies. "Food. We have a long trip back to Skyhold, and I have plans for you." 

"Oh?" She's managed to catch his interest, clearly.

"Mmm," is her only reply. She walks back toward the fire and takes her place next to Varric. He smirks at her and passes Cullen a bowl, still steaming slightly, and hands Aine a chunk of brown bread with honey on it.

The mood in the camp has improved a bit, at least. Her mood definitely has, but Cullen is quiet. Too quiet. He murmurs an apology to Varric and another to the scout he snapped at earlier, but otherwise he doesn't join in the conversation at all. To be fair, no one is feeling much more cheerful than their commander about the outcome of this particular mission. And Aine's sure her ringing ears and the tender knot on her skull aren't the only souvenirs they've acquired, though she knows no one is seriously injured. Solas and Dorian saw to that.

She can't help but enjoy Cullen's presence beside her, even if the rest of everything has gone to piss. Stealing a glance at him as he eats with an abstracted air, she stretches her feet toward the fire, pulls out her kit and starts sharpening her daggers. 

Everyone else around the nearby fires gradually brings out their little projects as well. Many have their own weapons to attend to, but others are doing some mending or, in Dorian's case, reading, of course. She's long given up on mocking Dorian for carrying books everywhere he goes, ever since they spent two days trapped by thunderstorms in a hut in the Fallow Mire and she convinced him to read aloud to stave off murderous boredom. Aine now knows more about a certain type of frost spell than half the mages in Thedas, but they all came out of it alive. Actually, it made her regret not having magic more than anything else ever has. 

She smiles at her daggers as she slides them along the stone. Not enough to want to give up her blades, though. 

"You're rather alarming when you do that," Cullen murmurs next to her. "Not everyone has quite that level of attachment to their weaponry."

"I want it noted that I am valiantly not making any sword polishing jokes," she says with as straight a face as she can muster. Cullen groans and puts a hand over his face, but she can see the smile quirking at his lips, and Varric snorts from his side of the fire. "Or crossbows," she adds wryly.

"It's not my fault Bianca requires a delicate touch," Varric shoots back. 

"Some women do. Some don't," Aine teases. Cullen is resolutely not looking at either of them. Varric winks at her and Aine smirks back. She has no complaints about Cullen's touches, gentle or not. She has so few complaints, in fact, that she's wondering when she can feasibly drag him back to their tent. 

She could ask Varric, but he'd surely say, "Any time you want, you're the fucking Inquisitor," in that laughing tone of his. She thinks it's probably still a bit early, unless they want to never live it down, but she's not sure she cares. She moves her foot and hooks her ankle around Cullen's. 

He looks up instantly, meeting her eyes with such an open, gentle expression. That's the Cullen she's accustomed to, though the growling lion excites her more than she's prepared to admit.

She smiles at him, because her hands are full of sharp weapons and they're in public. He seems to get the message, so she supposes it's all right. Varric snorts softly from the other side of the fire.

"Varric?" she says, without taking her eyes off Cullen. "Get stuffed." 

"No," he says easily. "Think I'll go with drunk instead. Bull's at the next campsite over."

"Bet you could get drunk _and_ stuffed with him," Aine says, grinning. Cullen closes his eyes and shakes his head. 

"I'll leave the stuffing for Sparkler," Varric replies. Aine snorts and Cullen groans faintly.

"Goodbye, Varric," she calls as he wanders around the bend in the small ravine they're camped in, toward the other group of tents. Carefully, she replaces her daggers and whetstone in their places. There are other people still sitting nearby, but she's completely beyond caring at this point. She stands and reaches out for Cullen's hands. "Now," she says with a white-toothed smile.

He takes her hands and lets her tug him up. "Whatever you command, my lady." 

"Do I have to command?" Aine asks.

He chuckles and squeezes her fingers. "There is little you would ask of me that I would hesitate to do, command or no," he murmurs softly. 

Aine laughs. "Maybe I'll have to think of a few more commands." The look he gives her then makes her breath catch in her throat. "Right," she says and tugs him toward their tent. Thank the Creators she found them a place to be - well, closer to alone. She hears a few suppressed snickers from around the fire, but ignores them. 

Someone set up their tent perfectly while they were at the temple. There's even a basin of water by the door. "Look, Cullen," she hums. "Bathwater."

He comes up behind her, hands tugging her hips back to him; his mouth brushes her ear as he says, "That does sound rather pleasant." 

"Doesn't it? Would you like that armor off now, Commander?" 

"I think I would," he replies, and his fingers go to the clasps on Aine's own armor. 

"Good," she says, letting his clever hands work. He has her outer layer off in moments and she turns to face him. He's already tugging his surcoat off. Aine steps close and starts on the buckles of his breastplate. She has to stand on her toes to reach the ones at his shoulder. He just smiles, keeps his hands on her waist and lets her work. 

She rocks back on her heels with his breastplate in hand and he takes it from her, setting it on his trunk. With a grin, she reaches up to smooth her hands over his shoulders and down his chest. "I so rarely see you without the damned thing," she says.

"I'm afraid the only way for that to happen is if you're at Skyhold more," he murmurs, running his fingers up her sides. 

"And that won't happen until I stop Corypheus," she says with a sigh. 

He sighs too. "Maker will it so."

She closes her eyes and leans in, resting her cheek against his chest. "It's getting closer. I can feel it," she murmurs. 

His arms come up to circle her shoulders and his lips press to the top of her head. "And yet I worry more each time you're called away." 

"So do I," Aine protests, wrapping her arms around his waist. She tucks her fingertips into the waistband of his heavy leather trousers. His arms tighten around her as she rubs her cheek against his chest. She's suddenly desperate for his skin, but she doesn't want to move the few inches it would take to achieve that.

"I'll wash you if you let go," Cullen urges gently. She sighs heavily. She can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, "I know, my love. I have been...rather eager to do this since I saw you get hit." 

This time, Aine harrumphs. "It was so stupid. I'm better than that." 

"We were rather...swarmed," Cullen points out. "Dorian felt terrible."

"It's not _his_ fault I lost my mind and forgot to watch my right flank," she sighs.

"Pride demons make you homicidally distracted, we shall all make a note," he replies, easing her tunic over her head.

"Their fucking _laughs_ ," she huffs, and goes for the hem of his shirt. "We work pretty well together, though," she observes with a smile. "Not that I had any doubts that we would." 

"We've been -" he shudders when she tickles his stomach - "training together for a while now."

"Nice to put all that hard work into action," she murmurs and shoves his shirt up. She can't quite reach to get it over his head, so he has to remove it the rest of the way. Creators, speaking of hard work in action - his body is the definition of the phrase. Even the strongest of her clan don't have bodies like this. She loves it, loves tracing every single muscle with her fingertips until he begs her for something more. It usually takes a long time. He is nothing if not self-controlled. But tonight she keeps her fingers to herself, because she wants a wash rather badly.

They get to business. It's quick and unromantic, but when they're done, she feels better. 

Cullen swipes a few stray drops of water off her shoulder with his fingers.

"It's gone," Aine tells him with a wide grin. 

His hand slides down her back and he tugs her closer. "It is," he agrees, eyes climbing over the curves of her face in that way he has. He can be sly, this one, and it's one of the things that had most surprised her about him. He tugs her closer, wraps one arm around her waist and brings the other up to slide his fingers into her hair. 

She leans in to kiss the line of his jaw, prickly with golden stubble. "Do you want your marching orders, Commander, or shall I let you decide?" She can feel him take a deep breath, feels the way his fingers tighten just the slightest bit in her hair and his arm around her waist. 

"I want...whatever you would like of me," he murmurs. He dips his head so she can reach his lips.

She kisses him, her arms slip around his neck. It's ridiculous, she thinks, how much she loves him. He's not the type of man she expected to love. It...challenges her.

His hand moves out of her hair and circles her shoulders and he crushes her to him, burying his face in her neck. "I love you," he whispers against her skin. 

"I love you too, Cullen. We're...stronger together. Let me show you."

"Yes," he whispers. "Anything." 

She smiles against his cheek and threads her fingers through his hair. It's a strategic error, because she doesn't want to let go, but their continued clothed state is...not helpful. "Cullen," she murmurs. "We're over-dressed and the bed is over there." 

He laughs. "Some bed." 

"I killed that bear myself," Aine points out.

"For which I am grateful, to be sure," he replies. "But apparently my body no longer appreciates rougher conditions." 

She pulls back and looks into his face. "Are you in pain?" 

He kisses her. "At the moment, only the sort that comes from getting older and more coddled." 

"I'll make you forget it," she promises, steering him down onto the pile of blankets and skins.

"You always do," he tells her softly and seriously as he settles against the pillows. Aine climbs happily on top of him, feeling his hands settle onto her waist.

"Good," she says and smooths her hands over his chest. He shivers under her touch and lets out a long breath. She thinks he's just exhaled away the last of his lingering tension. She smirks and leans down to kiss him. 

His fingers flex on her waist and he kisses back, tongue sliding against hers. She can't see his skin anymore, like this, but she can feel it under her fingers, warm and supple and ridged with scars. She lets her teeth catch his bottom lip briefly before she slides her lips down his neck to suck at his collarbone. 

"How's that?" she murmurs.

"You know it's good," he replies breathlessly. She smiles. She does. He's got more than one mark already. 

"Want more?" Aine runs her hands down his sides.

"Always," he replies. He draws his hands up her sides then and she shivers in response. He keeps them moving, cups his palms over her breasts. She sucks in a breath and nips at his skin, and he circles his thumbs around her nipples. It feels good - his thumbs have just enough callous to bite a little. She breathes his name against his chest and moves up to kiss him again. She rolls her hips while she does it, just as a tease. It teases both of them, of course, and she realizes her mistake when his fingers tighten.

"Aine," he says roughly against her lips. She does it again.

"You were beastly earlier," she whispers. "This is your punishment. I realize it is not much of one at all, but I'm too fond of you."

He moans softly and reaches up to cup her cheek. "I shall take whatever punishment you deem fit." She turns her head and kisses his palm. 

"You could try being nice. Very, very nice."

"What would you have of me, my lady?" he asks softly. It's strange when other people call her that. When he does, it's something different. 

"Your mouth, Commander," she says, to distract herself from the floating lightness twisting insider her chest, a feeling it seems only he can summon.

"As you command," he murmurs, puts his arms around her shoulders, and rolls her onto her back in a smooth motion. He kisses her, then slides down her body. 

She grasps for his hair again. He rubs his cheek against her stomach, then settles between her legs, spreads her with his fingers and immediately slides his tongue over her.

Aine sighs, biting back a louder noise. If only they were back in Skyhold, where both of their bedrooms are at the top of towers, then perhaps she could - She takes a deep breath and tightens her fingers in his hair as he moves his mouth up to suck on her. It makes him moan, and she reflexively tugs his mouth even closer. He sucks harder and she has to bite her lip to keep herself from making a noise the entire camp would hear. 

Cullen urges her legs up onto his shoulders and presses into her with two fingers. She gasps and she thrusts her hips against his fingers, his mouth. Now that he's got her attention, he's relentless, his own gasps for air the only respite she receives. He loves doing this, a fact she discovered early on. She wants to find whatever woman taught him and buy her a drink. The one time she'd told him so, he'd turned crimson. "Not a good idea, things would burn down for sure." Remembering, she pets his hair gently.

He looks up and meets her eyes as he crooks his fingers inside her. Aine whines. "More," she tells him.

He speeds up his fingers, keeping them crooked as he does, and sucks harder. 

"D'you think -" she pants, "they'd come running if I screamed? Cullen, I - you -" Her hips jerk and she feels her cunt pulsing around his fingers, biting her lower lip instead. Her hips push against him and he moves with her, mouth and fingers relentless until she comes. She bites harder on her lip and she knows her fingers are tight enough in Cullen's hair to hurt and lets go guiltily, petting him. 

He pulls back as far as he can, lips wet and gentle on the skin of her thighs, but doesn't complain.

"Cullen," she whispers. His lips are soft and his stubble a pleasant scratch that helps bring her back into herself. 

"More reparations, Your Worship? Have I earned your forgiveness?" 

Creators be damned, he's enjoying this. She's not sure she has it in her to keep her voice firm, even in a joking way. Instead, she tightens her fingers in his hair again. He just smiles wickedly, as if he knows exactly what she's thinking. 

She does love to see him smile.

She tugs and he moves up, kissing her hip, her ribs, the underside of her breast, her jaw, and finally her lips. He wraps his arms around her and rolls them over again. He doesn't let go of her, but keeps holding her tight, close. Aine laughs and kisses his chin. "You've been a good boy. Now let me go."

"I find I'd rather do anything else," he murmurs in her ear. 

"You'll just lie there unsatisfied all night?" she teases.

"There are worse fates," he replies, takes a breath to say more, then doesn't. She smiles against his cheek. That's always a sign he's stopped himself from saying something incredibly sappy. He's convinced himself she doesn't like it. And she never has - before him. It's hard for her to answer in kind. She loves hearing it from him, though. Partly because she knows he's serious. Before, it always felt like people said things because they thought they should, not because they meant them. 

Cullen never says a word he doesn't mean.

"I love you," she whispers in his ear. "Let me show you."

"As you wish," he replies, relaxing into the furs.

She cups his cheeks and kisses him softly, then pulls away and sits up. She can feel how hard he is, and she wants him inside her. She reaches back and takes his cock in hand, then lifts up, slowly lowering herself onto him. 

He breathes her name, hands clasping her thighs. She's muscular, but his hands still almost completely cover them. She bites down on her already bruised lip and breathes through her nose. "Let me," Aine murmurs, starting to move slowly, eyes fixed on his face.

His hands flex on her thighs and she leans forward to kiss the center of his chest. He's not trying to control things, neither her movements or her speed, but she wants him to let go completely. Metaphorically, anyway - his big hands on her body arouse her like little else. She rolls her hips and moans. There are few things she loves more than the feel of him inside her. 

She slides her lips over and takes one of his nipples lightly between her teeth. Cullen bucks under it like it was a much harder bite. "Maker, Aine."

She moans against his chest, then leans up to kiss him. "That can't have hurt," she murmurs. 

He shakes his head. "I liked it. Anything you want to do, Aine...my love," he murmurs. That he trusts her that much makes her throat tight. 

"I want to do a lot of things," she whispers back, nipping at the curve of his pectoral.

"Anything you want," he repeats, voice rough. "Anything." 

"I can make you forget all about him." Samson. Maddox. Corypheus. "About it." Lyrium, the Breach... "Just...be good, my commander. Be good, and let go."

"Yes," he breathes. 

She takes his nipple between her teeth again and bites harder this time. He gasps, and she can feel his cock jump and rolls her hips reflexively, grinding down. His hips move to meet hers. She wonders if she can get him to let go so thoroughly that he'll flip them over and take her hard and fast. She stretches to bite at his neck. "Is that all you have for me, Commander?" she croons.

"What would you like me to do, my lady?" he replies. 

"I want you to...know that you don't have to hold back with me. Not ever," she whispers in his ear. 

"But -" 

"Never," she growls. "Right now, I want you to do exactly what _you_ want," she says. "Whatever your instincts are telling you to do." She brushes his hair back from his face. "Now, Cullen."

His arms slide up around her and he crushes her to him, burying his face in her neck. He gasps her name, and she rocks down against him, finding the perfect angle for friction. She can feel the tension in his body, can feel him poised. She closes her eyes and grips his shoulders, willing him to let go. She can take it. 

Aine knows the moment he makes his decision. Some of the tension eases and he flips her onto her back again. Her nails dig into his shoulders as he snaps his hips, hard enough to make him groan with the effort. She wraps her legs around his waist, and has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. He feels so good. He's mumbling something into her neck, and she can't understand what he's saying until he comes up for air. 

He's growling it. "Mine," is the only word she understands. She swallows and tightens her limbs around him until every thrust rubs just right against her and steals her breath. She's close to release again and she knows he must be close as well. She can feel tension building in him again. 

She gets a hand in his hair and tugs his head back to bite at his neck again. "Cullen," she pleads.

"Don't want to stop," he gasps as his hips snap. 

"Don't," Aine orders.

"Aine," he breathes. "What would I..." he trails off as he gives her one long, slow thrust before speeding up again. This time, there's no stopping him, or her. They move together. Aine relishes his skin pressed against hers and the feel of his cock as he thrusts. His every exhale is a low moan, and his stubble rasps against her skin as he kisses across her neck and chest. He sucks one of her nipples into his mouth and she clenches around him. His hips kick, and she feels him tense and then spill inside her.

He thrusts until he's spent and gasping against her skin and slips a hand down her torso, fingers sliding between her folds to start rubbing. She whines and bucks into it, and he gasps again but keeps his pace steady and firm. It doesn't take long for her to arch up with a gasp and come hard. It feels even better this time, with him still inside her.

"So very beautiful," Cullen murmurs in her ear. 

"Yeah, yeah," she gasps, her hands scrabbling on his shoulders.

He chuckles and leans down to kiss her as he keeps rubbing, slowing his pace but not stopping. She can feel him smiling against her lips. She moans and her hips buck up against his fingers again. 

He pulls out, and her back arches; she hisses curses as he drives her up one more time with just his hand. She breathes hard and tries not to cry out as she comes again, thighs clamping around his hand as she shakes. He croons her name into her ear, kissing the delicate skin underneath.

When Aine can move again, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close. "How do you feel?" she whispers, tipping her head as he nuzzles along her jaw.

He laughs and wraps his arms around her. "I feel fine. Wonderful, even. How do _you_ feel?"

"Exhausted. Perfect." 

"Smug," Cullen retorts, nipping her chin.

"As if you're not," she replies, fingers making their way into his hair. 

He laughs, and she knows it's in agreement. It's a dimension of him that had honestly surprised her. Each one, large or small, is a wonderful discovery. She hopes it's the same for him. Smirking, she tweaks a curl at the crown of his head. 

"You drive me to madness," he tells her with another laugh. 

She chuckles. "You keep me sane."

His eyes go soft. "Sometimes I worry," he confesses. "That I don't give you as much as you give me. I'm glad I can help." 

She rolls them over and props her chin on his chest. "Couldn't do this without you," she says matter-of-factly.

He threads his fingers through her hair and takes a breath. "Whatever you need. Always." 

"This, more often," she says, opportunist to the core.

He chuckles and brushes his thumbs over the vallaslin on her forehead. "That would be an easier request to fulfill if we saw one another more often." 

"I can relieve you of command," she says, "but that would be incredibly stupid of me, so I suppose I'll just keep closing the blasted rifts."

"It'll be done eventually," he murmurs, then his face grows serious. "Do you think you'll...go back to your clan?" 

"I don't know if I could. I'm...not the same as I was," she says thoughtfully. Truthfully. 

"I don't think any of us are," he says. "For the better, in my case." 

She drops a kiss on his chest. "If I...wanted to visit them, would you come with me?" she asks. 

"They'll hate me," he says.

"They won't," she says. "Well, a few might. But they also know that you had a hand in helping to keep them safe and they know _I_ love you. Or they will. Because I will tell everyone within earshot." Creators, now he's blushing. It's adorable.

"I...would you come with me to see my sister?" he asks. "The others will probably make appearances as well. I imagine it will turn into a circus of children and dogs and be generally overwhelming and--" 

She puts her fingers over his lips. "Cullen. Of course I'll come meet your family. I'm fond of children. And dogs. And you."

"You do better with overwhelming, anyway," he says with a sigh. 

"You are the one who used to escape home to be by himself next to a lake," she teases. 

"You liked the lake," he protests, laughing. 

"I _loved_ the lake and I love that you shared it with me," she replies. "But you cannot deny that you vastly prefer peace and quiet over people and parties." 

"Depends who the people are," he replies.

"Uh huh," she replies, and leans up to kiss him. 

"If you're there, I want to be," Cullen tells her, pressing kisses to her lips between words.

"I feel the same," she says when he's done. "You know that, right?" 

"I do," Cullen agrees softly. "I may have doubted in the beginning, but I was...unsure of many things. And you deserve nothing less than my complete trust."

Her breath catches in her throat. He _says_ these things in that voice of his and it undoes her completely. She smacks his chest lightly. "You're going to make me cry." He looks so horrified that she has to laugh. "Happy tears, Cullen," she assures him with a kiss. 

"No, it's not that, I'm just fairly sure that you'd stab anything with the audacity to make you cry, and my armor is all the way over there," he replies.

She laughs. "So are my knives," she reminds him. 

"You move a lot more quickly than I do," Cullen says. 

"Just means we need to put in more hours in that training ring of yours," Aine grins. "I'll whip you into shape, Commander."

"Are you insinuating that I'm not in shape, Inquisitor?" he asks, hands sliding down her back to rest on her waist. 

"Are you turning me down?" she counters.

"Never," he replies, smiling. "Though, I confess I look forward to retiring to your quarters afterwards at least as much as the sparring."

"I had suspected as much," Aine laughs. 

"The bathing facilities in the barracks leave something to be desired," he says, face the picture of innocence. 

"You're using me for my bath?" she asks, feigning outrage. 

"Less the facilities, more the company," he murmurs, tracing a tattooed line across her cheek. She smiles and turns her head to kiss his fingers. 

"When we get back, we're taking a few hours for ourselves," she tells him.

"As you wish, my lady," he replies. She can see the little wrinkle between his eyebrows that means he's thinking of duty - his over-laden desk, if Aine isn't missing her guess. But she also knows the best ways to convince him.

She reaches up and rubs his forehead with her thumb. "Just a few hours, ma vhenan. To draw strength for everything we will need to do."

"I feel strong right now." 

She laughs. Even the slight slur, the heavier Fereldan burr to his voice, speaks to the lie. "You feel exhausted." She drops her voice to a whisper. "So am I. A hot bath, a feather bed, a few hours with you, it will be enough."

"All right," he murmurs so low, she feels it against her chest more than hears it. 

Aine strokes his hair. She is accustomed to the hardships of travel, of the wilderness, to an extent that her brave commander has never known. But she wants those hours in a featherbed as much as he. If she merely spends them watching Cullen sleep, no one need ever know.

She smiles and brushes her lips over the shell of his ear as she settles comfortably against his side. That sounds like a fine way to spend a few hours. She'll make the time, though she'll be impatient until Skyhold is in sight. For now, she'll cherish having him with her. Leaving him behind will be harder next time. It only makes her more resolved to finish this. She was content with her duties as a spy for her clan, always being sent out to do things. She's never wanted to _stay_ with someone before. 

It's more than just him, though. She wants to stay with them all.

Aine takes a breath. She can think about her plans later. They have a long journey ahead of them and she needs to sleep. 

Somewhere outside, nearer to the fire, someone is humming. Cullen's breathing has slowed to a sleeping cadence. Closing her eyes to catch the thread of the melody, she lets the combination of the music and his warm skin lull her into sleep.


End file.
